by Lily Silver
She’d been alone for over a year. And now there was Jack, a shining knight in his golden hair. A mature man, but a chivalrous hero. They could be comfortable together, couldn’t they?
He might not be in love with her, as Gareth had been, but many marriages were made for other reasons, weren’t they? She cared for him, and she was certain he did care for her. They might be happy, comfortable—even if love weren’t in the picture.
Marta came into her room. The girl appeared well rested. Chloe smiled at her, pleased to see a better side to the girl after their night spent in the wilderness, sleeping on the ground.
“Ma’am, you must go see,” Marta said, meeting her at the window. “It’s beautiful, too beautiful for words. You must go, quickly, and see the almond grove as the sun rises. The flowers are blooming. The mist is rising, and the sunlight, it’s … it’s so magical.”
“We are to stay indoors, until the captain sends for us.” Chloe reminded the girl. “You should not be wandering alone out in the perimeter.”
“Oh, no. It’s fine. The men were out there, too, ma’am. The captain and Lt. Morgan were out before sunrise, scouting about the edge of the farm. If you look beyond the stables and that barn you’ll see the captain out there now.”
Chloe followed the direction that Marta was pointing. She saw the golden sunlight, and she saw Jack standing in the middle of a grove of trees. He was studying the far horizon, toward the hills. His back was to her. She needed no more incentive. Chloe left the room and ran out past the stables in her chemise and petticoat to meet him.
The trees were as Marta said. Magical. Enchanted in the morning light, as the pink blooms were gilded with a halo of gold. The sky was ivory-gold, not yet a pure blue as the sun coming over the eastern hill bathed the little valley in yellow. The mists were lifting from the wet grass at her feet. She paused several feet from her goal, from Jack, and just admired him for a long moment. He still had his back to her as he scrutinized their surroundings. He held his rifle on his shoulder, and his sword was strapped to his side.
She never remembered Captain Rawlings appearing so lovely and so magnificent before this moment. His hair was shining in the low light as a bar of sunshine found its way through a break in the trees to kiss his head. The scent of almond blossoms, so sweet and delicate, mingled with the fresh dew of the earth and filled the air with misty sweetness that was just this side of cloying. The birds were serenading them, wishing them joy and happiness in this golden dawn.
Chloe wanted to rush to his side and hug him. Her heart was full again, full of hope. Angelica Rose said love awaited her in Spain. Warm hugs and gold. Like waves of sunshine.
Jack chose that moment to turn about. Perhaps he sensed her approach. He saw her, and stopped. His hand was on the strap of the rifle, keeping it slung on his shoulder. His mood was somber. Did he feel the same? Did he realize they were meant to be together?
“Morning.” His brusque tone took her off guard. It shattered some of the elation she felt after making love with the man twice last night.
“Jack.” She whispered his name with reverence. He stepped through the golden mist, past the black silhouette of the trees. His golden head dipped beneath a pink almond branch laden with showy blossoms. A few petals fell onto his hair as he moved beneath them to approach her.
He wasn’t smiling, as she was.
“Chloe.” His voice, so deep and rich, compelled her forward.
Jack’s arms opened to her. She ran to him. He swept her up in a crushing embrace, lifting her bare feet off the damp ground. He turned with her in his arms. Warm hugs and gold!
“You shouldn’t be out here, sweetheart. It’s dangerous,” he whispered, his face buried in her hair. “Go back to the villa. Wait for me there.”
“Marta said it was all right to come. She said she just came from here.”
“Stupid girl.” Jack set her down so her feet touched the dewy earth again. He scowled as he glanced toward the outbuildings. “I told her to stay inside until we surveyed the land for any sign of intrusion.”
The moment of magic was over. Jack stood beside her but did not look at Chloe. He was glancing about the perimeter. If he noticed her standing in the golden sunlight with her hair unbound and her white garments bathed in pinkish gold, he said nothing to note it. The grim set to his jaw told her he was not thinking of love at this moment, or even the tender moments they shared in the darkness.
He was thinking like a warrior, like a captain accustomed to leading men into battle.
“Off with you, now.” His hand smacked her backside lightly. He smiled at her, a frugal smile, but a smile nonetheless. “Off with you to the safety of the house.”
Chloe didn’t move. She stared at him, holding her ground, hoping for more.
“What is you want?” He appeared confused by her refusal to obey.
“I want a kiss from you. A morning kiss to remember throughout the day. A kiss until we are together again under cover of darkness.”
He nodded and reached for her. His behavior was not that of a determined lover. It was the action of a soldier obeying a direct order from his superior. His arms wrapped about her, and his lips bent to kiss her lightly across the cheek.
As Jack withdrew, he shrugged the rifle back up on his shoulder and scanned their surroundings again, as if worried they might be discovered. “No more kissing, or secret assignations. We are in dangerous country. I am sworn to protect you and deliver you to a safe harbor. I cannot allow myself to be distracted by desire again. It could cost us all dearly.”
*
In the three days that followed, the party remained at the Villa Almendra to recover after their harrowing journey across Andalusia, the last of which had been on foot. The villa was nestled between two valleys. The house was located on the western slope, hidden from the road on the eastern side, giving them a strategic position above to watch for French troops. The almond groves were below in the valley and stretched on for miles. It seemed to be a safe place. The road remained quiet, with few travelers passing below.
Jack couldn’t relax, despite the seeming peace of this country estate. The lodgings were fine enough, and the old couple who tended the estate in the owner’s absence friendly. The old woman doted on Chloe. And Chloe was angry with him for rebuffing her after their night of passion. He found it helped to have her angry, as it made it easier to remain aloof and focus on keeping them out of harm’s way.
They were in a country on the brink of war, a war with France and also within itself. The Spanish army was in hiding, regrouping as it prepared to fight of the French that had once been their staunch ally. Even here, in this rural paradise, he could sense the deceptive calm that came before a hurricane. He didn’t like being caught in a hurricane. He’d rather find a safe port to wait out the storm.
He avoided Chloe as much as possible. He ordered the men to keep regular watches, and pushed himself to physical activity to keep occupied. He cut wood for the old couple, hauled water from the well, and chased chickens about the yard for their dinner. He needed the physical distraction of hard work. If he allowed himself to think of her soft skin and her sensual cries as they writhed together in ecstasy, he’d become complacent. Worse for it, he’d want more of her—his blood simmered in his loins as it was and he craved further intimacy.
The situation was intolerable. He could not risk their lives by following his body’s desire.
Chapter Twenty-Four
They arrived in the small seaside town of Marbella at mid-day. The streets seemed empty, as if all were inside napping to escape the heat, even if it were only mid-March. Marbella enjoyed a more tropical climate, being on the Mediterranean coast, just north of Africa.
Jack helped Chloe down from her perch behind Lt. Morgan. They only had three horses from the villa, and he insisted she ride behind Morgan and not himself. She took the lead with her little ensemble and knocked on the door to her Uncle Miguel’s home. It was an ornate door, with a huge knocker
with a brass bull’s head. Jack admired the sharp brass horns. A ring through the nose of the bull formed the knocker. Nothing happened. Jack stepped up to the front and rang it again, this time with more force.
“Someone should be here,” Jack said, scrutinizing the windows above them. “The windows aren’t shuttered. Morgan, take the horses to the back gate. We’ll meet you inside.”
The clip-clopping of the horses moving away from them on the cobbled street was the only noise they heard around them. Chloe was hungry, thirsty, and ready to collapse from exhaustion. The house was on the rise of a hill and overlooked the sea below them as well as the small village it was a part of. There was a modest church across the street, a whitewashed building about a hundred feet away, also dominating the town from above it. The setting was lovely, a seaside villa where the Ramirez family might gather for the hot summer months.
This was the long awaited moment. She’d traveled so far to meet her father’s brother, had borne disappointment after disappointment as they went from Cadiz to the villa near Guaro and then on to Marbella in the hope of finding Uncle Miguel at home. Chloe’s breath came with difficulty. She feared she was going to be dizzy from the excitement.
They heard the lock turn on the other side of the door.
“Hola?” A servant opened the door. A small, grizzled man with a shock of white hair greeted them. He examined Chloe’s appearance with disdain. “Qué ocurre, señorita?”
Jack put a hand in front of her, and to her surprise, spoke to the man on her behalf, in perfect Spanish. “This lady is the niece of Don Miguel Ramirez, the Marquis del Amico. She has traveled many miles in search of him. She is the daughter of his younger brother, Juan. Please inform his lordship that we are here.”
At his mention of her relation to his master he seemed horrified. Another man stood in the doorway, and the old man disappeared into the dark interior. This fellow was younger, with jet-black curly hair and dark eyes. He was dressed in the clothes of a nobleman. “Enter, senora. Your uncle will be pleased to know you and your servants have arrived safely.”
Jack had his hand on his sword. “How did you know to expect us?”
The gentleman shrugged. “Word was sent, sir. His lordship’s servants are most efficient in notifying him of any news from his various villas and casas.”
“Lucinda probably wrote him from Cadiz,” Chloe conceded. “How thoughtful of her.”
“Yes, that is so. Come in, out of the hot sun. It is the middle of the day.” The man smiled and gestured for them to enter the casa.
Chloe stepped in, with Jack behind her.
Jack’s fingers circled her arm firmly, just above her elbow. “Stay close to me.”
She frowned at him. Must he always see danger in their path?
The echoes of their footsteps could be heard following them through the tiled hallway. They were led into a large room that appeared to be the main gathering place of the family when they were in residence. The furniture was ancient, ornately carved of dark wood. The tapestries were rich and vivid, despite being from another age.
A middle-aged man at the desk near the window. He was not the marquis. His blue uniform was enough to identify him as a French soldier, an officer. The well-dressed man who admitted them into the house was standing close to him, whispering in his ear.
“Most excellent. The marquis’s niece? How clever. We were expecting a nephew. Perhaps our informants got it wrong.” When his gaze rested upon Chloe, she had the immediate impression that she should flee. Such cold eyes, so much worse than Mr. Duchamp’s, and that was saying a lot.
She stepped back, butting into Jack as she did so. His hand was still on her arm. He released his grip, but only to place his arm in front of her, as if to silently claim her as under his protection. That subtle movement was not lost on the revolting French official.
“You are Mrs. O’Donovan, I am told. And this, brave man, is he Mr. O’Donovan? An Irishman, I take it?” The soldier stepped closer, taking slow, deliberate steps as he surveyed them both without emotion. “Well, speak, good man. If you are not an emissary of the English Army, you have nothing to fear from us.”
“I am Captain Rawlings, from the West Indies. I am Le Count de Rochembeau’s emissary,” Jack said, playing the side of coin of their illustrious count that best fit the situation. “I am charged with escorting her to her uncle, the Marquis del Amico. Is he here?”
“Yes, but he is indisposed.” The manner in which he said indisposed sent shivers through Chloe. “I am Captain Mortier. What brings you to Marbella in March? Surely not the devotion of a niece. Most women would gladly stay home when war is being declared on all fronts.”
“I am recently widowed,” Chloe replied, determined not to be intimidated by this lout. “I have no family in the Indies, and my husband’s nephew, the count, was kind enough to indulge my need to be with my kin after such a loss. He is a sugar lord and had a cargo ready to ship, so it was no difficulty to add me to the manifest.”
“I see.” The greasy-haired fellow crept forward. The scraping of his heels on the tile floor echoed in the large chamber. His military boots were not polished. They had mud on them, and what she feared might be blood. “And does this count ship his sugar to Spain or to France?”
“No, sir,” Chloe replied. Jack put up his hand, silencing her from answering further.
“Ah, the sailor disapproves of your speech. Where did you drop your cargo, Captain Rawlings? Speak honesty or the girl behind you will pay for your carelessness.”
Jack and Chloe turned as one. Marta was at the door. A guard stood behind her with a knife at her throat. She did not make a sound. Her silence spoke volumes. If she were merely afraid, she’d be whining and caterwauling, as she had the entire trip.
“How dare you!” Chloe moved toward the Frenchman, but Jack quickly restrained her with a sharp tug at her arm. He pulled her back, behind him again.
“Easy, Mrs. O’Donovan. Captain Mortier, we both know that the sugar islands comprise many nations, the Dutch, the Spanish, Portuguese and French as well as the English. My lord ordered me to drop his cargo at the London docks and then speed his aunt to her homeland.”
“England. I thought as much. We are at war with England, sir.”
“Mrs. O’Donovan and I are not English. Nor is little Marta there. She was born on the island of Ravencrest. Mr. Jenkins and I are from America. There are no spies among us, only weary travelers. Where is the marquis? We would see him, if you please.”
“Tomas, wine for our guests,” the captain ordered. “Descartes, release the girl.”
As soon as the soldier took his blade from Marta’s throat, she propelled herself into the room and into Chloe’s waiting arms. The tears came, but even for Marta, they were subdued as she wept into Chloe’s shoulder.
“Shhh, there now. It’s all right, dearest,” Chloe soothed. She wanted to rush forward and strike the arrogant army captain. Threatening an adolescent girl was unnecessary and unforgivable. She knew Jack would not have her act on her fury as they were in enough trouble without coming to blows over Marta’s ill treatment.
The old man who opened the door from the street came shambling in with tray and several glasses of wine. A queer noise marked his steps as he came forward to serve them—the clatter of metal. Chloe looked down at his bare feet. She gasped. He was wearing leg shackles.
“Ah, yes, you see how it is.” The French leader was quick to mark her discovery. “We cannot keep good servants so we have endeavored to make Tomas’s stay a little more permanent.”
“Where is my uncle? What have you done to him?” Chloe dropped her arms from Marta’s form and once more made an effort to advance to the vile man. Jack and Jinx were bracketing her, each holding her arm and preventing her from lunging at the foul man.
“A spirited woman, I like that.” The Frenchman’s grin made her heart still in her breast. “You and I will have some good sport together, won’t we, madame?”
“O
ver my dead body.” Jack exclaimed, releasing her and grabbing his sword.
“That could prove most entertaining. Guards, seize them.”
“Wait!” Chloe shrieked. She turned about, placing herself before Jack as if to shield him from the rifles pointed in his direction. “Please?” She softened her tone as the soldiers surrounded them.
“Wait.” Captain Mortier lifted his hand to stay his men’s movements.
“I’ve traveled far to be reunited with my uncle.” She affected a pathetic tone, and even managed to make her voice warble a little. “My husband died recently, and my infant son. Please, sir, where is he? Did he die, too? Where is the Marquis del Amico?”
Mortier eyed her with speculation. He seemed to be considering her request. Chloe hoped her plea would touch any lingering humanity the officer possessed. “Senor Ramirez is alive. He is safely locked away, for his own protection.”
“Why?” Chloe asked, struggling to contain her renewed fury. “He’s a marquis, sir, surely you’ve not taken to executing the nobles here as you did in France.”
That seemed to rattle the fellow. Captain Mortier’s hard stare pinioned her. “He is in league with the Spanish rebels hiding like mongrel dogs in the hills.” His hand sliced the air as he gestured toward said hills. “We have waited at his home to see who might come knocking at his door and just look at the lovely bird we caught.”
Jack had his hand on his sword grip. He was positioned between her and the French captain.
Chloe’s blood moved quickly through her temples. The military typically shot those they believed guilty of treason. If Uncle Miguel were suspected of resisting the French troops, his life might be forfeit.
“What is wrong, little bird?” The Captain’s voice coiled over her with tendrils of dread. “Do you not like the cage we’ve trapped you in?”